Under my Skin
by Ground Control
Summary: It all adds up to nothing; we all know that. We got from nothing to nowhere fast, because is there really any other way to do things? We all have something, anything in common. This is the road in-between. Skins AU (an attempt at) gen 4


skins

generation 4

_**I do not own Skins (le**_** tear).**

**PROLOGUE**: **Unseen (But Not Unknown)**

-O-0-o-0-O-

**_Recording #52 from G. Fuller's therapy sessions_**

"So, I heard that you've had a good week?"

The response was a calculated silence, punctuated only by the clink of the bracelets being fiddled with by the patient. If one were to guess, they could assume a large number of them adorned each arm, none of them metal and none with sharp edges.

A scoff.

"You mean that I didn't try bloody offing myself since last Friday?"

The voice had a Southern Irish lilt to it which had worn away by the years spent away from the country. It had also taken on a very cynical, sarcastic tone.

"Now, Gwyneth, that's not what I'm getting at and you know it", replied the older male, his voice deep and gravelly. "I heard from the nurses that you've stopped trying to leave your room at night and that you've been spending time with another patient here. Wouldn't you say that that's better than when you first arrived here at the clinic?"

"Well, I'd be even better if you didn't have those bints watching my every fucking move", the girl retorted in a low tone, sighing.

"Gwyneth… you're still on suicide watch. There's nothing that can be done to change that until you've been deemed stable enough to be left to your own."

"I'll give you 'stable'. Let me out and I'll let a whole one of them run through here, bloody horses and all."

A sigh on the behalf of the psychiatrist. "Gwyneth, you will eventually be allowed to leave the clinic but it's our responsibility to ensure that you'll be safe both for yourself and for others before you're released. You know that."

Another moment of silence.

"I understand". The voice had shrunk to an almost inaudible volume, almost repentant in nature.

"Now, let's focus on something more positive. I hear that you've grown close to another patient here? I believe that her name is… Tamsin?"

"Yeah", the reply came in a hesitant tone. "She's a klepto. Keeps making off with my bracelets, even by accident. But she's nice enough. Tells the best stories."

"Good. And since you aren't trying to leave your room at night, does that mean that you're getting more sleep?"

"I get a bit… which is way more than before, but I don't think I'll be able to get any more without a prescription."

"I've told you, Gwyneth, the sleep aids don't interact well with your antidepressants. I'm afraid that it's one or the other, and I'm much more inclined to keep you on the road to recovery than get you a few extra hours."

"It's just… I'm tired of all of the spasms. They're driving me up the bloody wall, especially the fucking twitch that I've got in my eye. God, it almost makes the hallucinations bearable, and those _are _driving me insane."

"I understand your frustrations, Gwyneth. But I promise you, in the long run, you'll be able to move past your conditions and you'll lead a healthy life."

"…sure. Whatever you say, Doctor Trask."

-O-0-o-0-O-

**_You have 1 new message from user T-rowe_**

"You know, you're never fucking online when I have my hour of internet. I'm almost inclined to believe that you're ignoring me, Lukas."

A teenage girl with a round face speckled with beauty marks huffed into the camera, seeing her annoyed expression projected onto the screen. Her shoulder-length curls were tinted red, and she shook her head every few seconds to clear her bangs from her heavily lined brown eyes.

Her dress was a wild whirlwind of rainbow polka dots on a grey background, and her knees were hiked up under her chin, her green pinstriped stockings showing.

"If you didn't live all the way in the middle of nowhere in fucking Germany and I wasn't locked up in the clinic again, I'd get off of my arse and go give you a piece of my mind, you prick."

She huffed, picking at her sequined nails and fiddling with a ring.

"Then again, you have finals this week, and you're probably off studying with your mates."

Groaning, she buried her face in her hands.

"I've just bitched you out for no reason, haven't I? Oh god, now you're going to think that I'm some clingy twat who jumps to conclusions all of the time and you're going to dump me, aren't you?"

With a shuddering breath, she lifted her face back up in front of the camera.

"I'm sorry, Babe. I know, I'm acting weird, but I swear, it's this place. It's driving me crazy. Funny enough, how a place meant to fix me up is making me go insane."

"Anyways, I'll be out by the time that you're on break, or so they tell me. Then again, they're a bunch of lying cunts who'll tell me whatever they think that I need to hear so that they can 'produce results'."

The last bit she'd moved her fingers in the 'quote-unquote' motion, sneering.

"If they don't follow through, I swear on my bint of a grandmother's life that I'll stage a full-scale breakout-escape type thing. I'll cause riots and incite the masses into creating mass destruction for you, Babe. Well, so that I can go see you."

Her face brightened as she smiled.

"Oh! I figured I should mention that I've found someone in this place that isn't totally psycho or spaced out, and I've decided to make her my new best friend since fucking Daria is too stoned all of the time to bother coming to visit, that bitch. If I make a break for it, I'll bring her along to show her round. She moved here from London or something a few months ago, so yeah."

She scratched at her cheek, grinning.

"I can't wait till you get here, Babe, we're going to have the best summer. That, and Gwen says that she knows a guy who knows a guy who can score us some killer MDMA. How she managed to do that since she moved here in like, April and got here about three weeks after that, I have no fucking clue, but she says she'll be good for it by the time we're out. That'll sure fuck with her meds, but who gives a shit?"

Her eyes moved to the corner of the screen, checking the time and wincing.

"Sorry Babe, looks like my time is up. Send me a message when you get this."

She blew a kiss from fire engine red lips. "Love you."

_End of message._

-O-0-o-0-O-

**_Recording… username Ht_bx420_**

A camera pointed at an empty room.

Seventy-nine minutes and thirty-four seconds of footage sped-up.

"Fucking hell… Carrie! D'you take my fucking spliff again?"

A muffled reply. Stomping footsteps.

A short girl with a small frame entered the screen, her brow furrowed and a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Kicking off a pair of ratty sneakers, she plunked herself onto her bed, unaware of the camera rolling.

She still wore a dirtied shirt from work, and her face was free of any makeup. She looked younger than she was, thanks to her mother's Japanese genes. The lines under her eyes indicated stress and contradicted her appearance, which was emphasized by her tied-back long black hair.

Rubbing at her face with hands sporting nails bitten to the quick, she dropped them from her temples down to her bag, which lay in her lap. Searching, she pulled out a small zip-up bag.

The grinder which she pulled from said bag glinted in the reflection created by her nametag, on which '_Daria Hull'_ was inscribed. Taking a deep breath and a rather generously sized bud of weed, she passed it through the small holes until its consistency resembled that of ground oregano in slow, delicate movements.

She then retrieved a booklet of king-sized skins and carefully filled one, taking care to leave space at either end of the unrolled joint. She then tore a piece of cardboard from the corner of the booklet and meticulously folded it into a 'W' shape before rolling the rest into a tight filter and sliding it into one end of the blunt.

She licked the edge, almost lovingly wrapping it cylindrically before taking out a pencil and packing the spliff in tighter and adding in the rest. She then twisted the hat and produced a lighter, burning it away and subsequently lighting the tip.

Careful puffs taken at first, she held the smoke for a few moments before allowing it to escape thickly bit by bit.

She then noticed the camera and how it was still on. Smirking, she waved and got up to shut it off.

-O-0-o-0-O-

**_Happy Eats- a film by Sebastian Lowell_**

Whirring sounds from an old-fashioned red telephone cut through the title card.

"_Hello, Happy Eats, may I take your order?"_ a voice on the other line inquires in Italian. The hand holding the receiver is male and the color of bone, rolled up dress sleeves under a dark sweater exposing a slim wrist.

The camera pans upwards to expose artist's fingers and red lips, which speak, "_Good evening."_

_"__What would you like, sir?"_ comes the reply.

"_Too much"_, that mouth replies, set in a blank line.

_"__Sir-"_ the person on the other line attempts, only to be interrupted.

_"__You know, you have a very kind voice. Like when you rub the belly of a small, furry animal."_

_"__Sir, are you going to order anything?"_ the voice requests, unaffected by the abrupt statement of the red mouth.

_"__The Sun. Light. The 'good morning' to neighbours, friends."_ The mouth quivers, savouring these words.

_"__Sir, it doesn't work like that."_

_"__I'm nice, aren't I?"_ the mouth retorts. There is a moment of silence.

"Your order is being processed", comes the tinny female voice of an automated service on the line.

The phone is put back in its cradle as the mouth does not speak. Instead, the hand moves to toy with a ball of cotton affixed as clouds to a piece of construction paper. The man to whom these hands belong is seen for the first time, hunched over, ginger-coloured hair in disarray. The fingers holding the puffball cloud place it over the smiling sun and arrange themselves criss-cross with those of the other hand.

The doorbell sounds.

The man opens the door. His face is the colour of fog and the shadows in his face seem almost impossibly dark, from the shadows beneath his eyes to the hollows of his cheeks. His mouth is as red as ever.

The person standing outside appears to be just as haggard. Rabbit ears are nestled in his dark hair and he is wearing a khaki green uniform with the logo 'Happy Eats' in the left hand corner. He chews gum and appears apathetic.

The man glances at his doorstep, where a purple basket sits awkwardly among dead leaves and a tattered doormat. Inside, there is something the same shade as his mouth, wrapped in cellophane. He looks back to the deliveryman, who rolls his eyes and turns away.

His focus returns to the basket.

It contains two hearts.

Almost sheepishly, the man takes the basket and returns inside.

The fingers reach cautiously, longingly for the contents of the basket.

A heartbeat.

The hand retreats, and so does the 'thump-thump' of a beating heart.

The man's furniture is overturned. He lies on the ground stiffly, gazing up at the ceiling with a blank expression. A shadow of a hand.

It cuts to daytime.

The man is outside, walking, his eyes closed in bliss and a faint smile on that mouth.

The fingers reach for the content of the basket.

The man stares at the ceiling.

The man is walking. His sweater is inside-out. He looks at the ground.

A hand emerges, fingers like worms in cut-off gloves, peering over the side of the overturned bedframe.

The man stares at the ceiling. He looks away, as an obscure figure emerges.

The man is walking. He looks down at his hand, which clenches a blood-red heart. The mouth smiles.

The figure looks down at the man. Reaches for him. The man stares at the ceiling.

Dry leaves at night, lit up by the glow of a single flashlight.

The man is walking. He holds the purple basket in one hand, the heart in the other. The mouth is still smiling. He starts to skip.

The figure moves closer.

There is someone standing in the road.

The man is staring at the ceiling.

The man is skipping down the street. The mouth is grinning. He throws the heart in his hand at the blank-faced person standing in the road.

The man is skipping down the street. The mouth is feral. He throws a heart from the basket at another empty-eyed bystander.

The man is staring at the ceiling.

The bystander kicks the heart away. The man is skipping down the street.

The man is looking at the figure.

The bystander picks up the heart.

The man is staring at the ceiling.

The bystander is smiling as she takes a bite.

Dry leaves. The bunny-eared deliveryman.

The man is skipping through a park. Someone in a hoodie stands there, hitting a stick against a pole.

"Morning, Greg!" says the mouth, grinning wide. The man skips away.

The man looks away from the ceiling to the figure.

The bystander is smiling around the bite she took of the heart. Blood is smeared over her chin.

The figure moves closer.

Dry leaves. The heart in the man's hand.

The man is overshadowed by the figure.

The man is in the woods at night.

The figure moves closer. Closer. Closer. Too close.

The man emerges from the forest, the mouth grimacing wide.

He presents a heart to the camera, tightly clenched in one hand.

Credits roll.

-O-0-o-0-O-

**_You have 3 new messages…_**

"_Hey, this is Dylan. If this is Levi, chill the fuck out, man, you just saw me like half an hour ago, mate. If not, leave your number. I probably won't call you back."_

"Mate, you're a proper wanker. And I _am_ calm, you turd. You're lucky that I'm not right there with you, or else I'd give you a proper hit. That and I wouldn't bother to share any of the pills that I just scored off of Thom. Prick. Where the fuck are you anyways? Are we still going to that party at that metalhead guy's flat tonight, or are we just going to the pub? Mate, I swear, I need to get wasted. Work's been shite and my parents are at it again. You know how it is. Anyways, I don't give a fuck what your message-answering thing says, you'd better bloody call me back, you sod. Bye."

"Hey Pumpkin, it's Mum. Me and Dan are at the market and we wanted to know if you'd be in for supper tonight. It's couscous and beef stew, if you were wondering. Anyways, I need you to pick up Amelia from her gymnastics class when it's done, I have to go bring Bren to a dentist appointment in town and drop off Kirsty at her friend's. Your dad'll be back late, so make sure that Corey doesn't get up to trouble or anything. Love you, sweetheart! Bye!"

"Dylan? It's Jennie, from your maths? Look, I was… god, this is embarrassing, but I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime. You're really nice, and I thought that we got along well in tutoring, I mean, when we weren't just talking about school. Look, I just… I think you're cool, and I'd like to see if we'd work out, y'know. Anyways, call me back, my number is-"

_Message deleted._

-O-0-o-0-O-

**_'_****_Commissions and Conditions' uploaded by Reese's Pieces at 10:14 pm June 3_****_rd_**

"Right, so you all know that I've been slaving over a commission for some obscure abstract piece for this rich old toe rag."

The girl speaking into the camera had a no-nonsense look about her, her straight, dark hair sheared into a sleek bob which ended an inch below her chin. Her generous lips were arranged in a dark scowl, contrasting with the bright sheen of her almond-shaped eyes.

"Anyways, I know that the tosser won't touch anything invented past 1965, so I don't have to worry about him seeing this. Not that I'd care."

Her long, slim fingers waved through the air with a sense of frustration, coffee skin stretched over delicate hands. Along her wrists, finely boned like a bird's, were spatters of acrylic, smudges of oil and a blooming of grey that could only have originated from an ink bottle.

"This prick", she stated in a (slightly restrained, yet still) seething voice. "This prick had me calling him weekly for updates and progress reports and all of that overrated shit that that crowd always expect. It's like they think that if they don't make it a point to 'be involved' –and I mean that in the loosest sense possible, by the way- they'll find me keeled over their ruined piece with a needle in one arm and a bottle spilled over the other."

"So this overstuffed armchair of a prick is listening to me detail everything I've done in the past 72 hours when he decides that it's convenient and appropriate to interrupt me –_mid-sentence, might I add_- to inform me that he's '_had a change of heart_' and '_has a new commission to make of me and just toss that other piece in with the rubbish because that's where it belongs'._"

She took a deep breath, lowering her previously flailing palms to the table in a calming gesture, the tension still visible in the way in which they still shook with rage.

Then, she glanced up very suddenly at the camera.

"If there is one thing that is understood and agreed on when you commission something, it is that both parties are _interested_ in the commission which is being… commissioned."

Her brow furrowed.

"That means that you don't get to fucking change your mind halfway and seven weeks of work through, even if you're the twat paying for the damned thing, and you don't get to _fucking call it rubbish_!"

Her voice had risen abruptly as she had begun shouting at the tail end of the latter sentence.

"So go screw yourself with a rusty chisel, you wrinkly, crusty, prehistoric sod!"

Huffing angrily, she reached one ink-and-paint-stained hand forwards to turn off the camera.

_Like, rate and subscribe._

-O-0-o-0-O-

**_ . /userm/09736/vid? _**

"You know that I know why you clicked to my profile, you creepy crawler, you."

The person in the camera frame was smirking like the cat got the canary.

He shook his head, moving the strands of dark hair out of his eyes and drawing attention to his very angular jawline. His cupid's bow lips stretched wider in a lopsided grin, bringing to light dimples and his already prominent, well-formed cheekbones. His eyebrows wiggled teasingly.

"You think I'm attractive."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Fit."

He leaned forwards, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Beautiful."

The last word lingered on his tongue, much like peanut butter on the roof of one's mouth, rich and slow. He appeared to savour it, revelling in the implications of its meaning.

He turned his eyes sharply back to the camera. "I'm all of those things."

"Well, you're in luck." He fell back to lean lazily on the back of the chair he was sitting in. "I just might be interested too."

"What? Surprised?"

His expression grew playful once again. "This is a site where unattached people meet up, go out… maybe for dinner, maybe to a pub… some of them end up sleeping together, some don't. But really, what I'm trying to get at is that this is where singles mingle."

He raised a hand to run it through his hair and reduce it to a further mess.

"None of that hassle of chatting you up; you already know you're interested. None of that messy pussyfooting around trying to pick up on whether or not you've got a 'significant other'."

His hand fell back to his side.

"So you're interested. Go on. Give it a shot. I might just be interested back."

He winked.

_You have sent Finn Archer a nudge._

-O-0-o-0-O-

**_Video uploaded to Facebook at 3:07 am by Levi Patton_**

"Mate, you sure this is a good idea?"

"Nah, s'aright, I've done this about a dozen times. Everything'll turn out great, man."

The camera is jostled from facing downwards to face its owner, a teenager with dirty blonde hair tousled over a rather tan and pleasant face.

"This idiot, here, is going to have monkey tattooed on his arse", he says in a very matter-of-fact sort of way. "Claims it'll be good for a laugh. I, for one, totally agree. What I don't agree with is that the monkey being permanently put on my best mate's behind will be gesturing to _its arsehole_."

"Dylan, mate, you're usually amazing and very, very supportive of me marking myself up like a kid's coloring book, but today you're just being a right bastard", the one laid out on the parlour's chair, stomach-down mutters under his breath. "And if you're going to be such a dick about it, you shouldn't be fucking filming me while I get my arse stuck full of needle and ink."

Glancing back to his friend, the owner of the camera smirks before shrugging in a 'well, what can you do' sort of way. "Like I said, Lev, it'll be good for a laugh, even if it does end up looking crap."

"Screw you, you inkless prick. S'not like you've even ever got a tattoo, so shut up and keep the camera on me", Levi retorts, his face dropping into the cushion of the chair as he huffs.

The artist, gloves on and gun out, rolls his eyes.

"I'm going to start now, so you've got to turn off the camera."

"Why'd I have to do that?"

"Shop policy. Besides, your mate's gonna start sobbing like someone went and tore off his bollocks. I couldn't care less, be he's going to be the one embarrassed."

"Keep it rolling, Dyl. He's got it wrong, it doesn't hurt much."

The tattoo artist sighs, but picks up his gun and dips it in the ink, then touching it to Levi's skin.

"**_MOTHERFUCK-_**"

_End of video._

-O-0-o-0-O-

_**Not too sure about this one. Feedback would help, if you please.**_

_**I figured that since Skins started off with those little video-type things, that would help these characters establish themselves a bit. **_

_**I know, I KNOW that the 'Happy Eats' thing is weird. Funny thing is, it's pretty much a transcript of my friend's project for his program. He's in cinematography, and this was some weird thing where he and his crew had to make this experimental thing where they combined genres and tried to do something totally new.**_

_**(It's on youtube if you're all that curious.)**_

_**Anyways, a great big thank you for reading.**_

_**Merida**_


End file.
